Silas sat behind the wheel of a black Audi arranged for him by the professor, and he looked
From the window to the neat church of San Solis, lit below by a row of floodlights, the two larvae of the church rose peerfully as muscle-bound guards above the long central part of the building. AND FROM EACH SIDE STARTED A ROW OF SHADE BRANCHES, LIKE A BEAUTIFUL ANIMAL'S RIBS
The theists used the house of a Lord to conceal the stone of contract. Once again, the Brotherhood confirmed her reputation.
A mythological illusion and deception. Silas was desperate to find the necklace and hand it over to a professor so that they could recover what the Fraternity had stolen from the faithful long ago. How strong and affordable would that make Opus Dei?
Silas was parked in the deserted San Sulpice yard, and he was all over himself
He clears his mind and focuses on the task at hand. His wide back still pained him from the physical self-torture he had inflicted at the beginning of the day, but all that pain. Extreme in comparison to the torment that shattered his life before he was saved by Opus Dei. Yet memories of that life haunt his soul everywhere
Free from your hatred, the Silas thing himself, jealous of your former self.
Upon seeing the stone towers of San Solis, Silas resisted the raging dust... That kind of power
His memory long went back to imprisoning him again in the prison that was the only world he ever knew in his youth. And the memories of the torment journey that Danma found their way to strike his senses like a storm came back to him... With the stench of rotten cabbage and the stench of death and the incontinence of men's urine and feces. The cries of despair brought on by the winds of the Pyrenees howling in the mountains and the silenced whims of the forgetful men. Andorra, Silas thought and his muscles were tightening
What is unbelievable is that in this desolate spot between France and Spain
That's where he was trembling in his stone cells, hoping to die. That's where Silas was saved.
He couldn't have realized it then.
His name wasn 't Silas, but he still can' t remember the name his parents gave him
His drunken father, a large man working as a porter in Marfa, had left home at the age of seven and had spent his life disgruntled because he had worn out a leper boy by constantly harming his wife and blaming her for the child's embarrassment. While the boy was trying to defend his mother, he received his version of the beating. One night, a feud gripped, and his mother fell behind immobile, never waking up over the boy, siding with his dead mother, and he felt a wave. He let it happen to her! Its my fault.
As if a genie was wearing it, the boy went into a kitchen and fell on a knife like he was sleeping.
Magnetically he walked into the bedroom where his father was lying on the bed so drunk that he was out of consciousness, without forgetting a word of his father's stabbing in the back. That's until the apartment fell in a lockdown.
69
After that incident, the boy ran away from home, but he couldn't find the streets of Marseille.
The house where
He ran away from home. His strange appearance made him an outcast among other young escapees and he
He had to live alone in the basement of a ruined factory, on stolen fruits and raw fish he found in the harbor, and his only consolation was the torn magazines he found in garbage containers that he taught himself to read. Over time, he grew up to be a strong man. When he was 12 years old, he was mocked by a homeless fat-a girl twice his age - on the street and tried to steal his food, and he attacked her. In seconds between life and death, the police barely caught him and pulled him over, warning him either to leave. The streets of Marseille or the juvenile prison would be waiting for him. He moved south across the coast to Toulon. Over time, the gaze of pity shifted
The boy had grown up and was now a very big young woman. And when people were passing him, he could hear them whispering among themselves and saying, "This is a ghost, this is a ghost, with nine eyeballs of fear, and they're staring at his white skin, a ghost with my eyes! A demon."
His father felt a ghost. See... It goes from one port to another.
It was as if people were seeing through it.
When he was 18 years old, in a town on a dock trying to steal
A carton of meat from a cargo ship, caught by two of the crew, was petrified.
Baron's beer last night smells like it.
His memories of horror and hatred awoke in his head like a monster breaking the bars of his cage. A hotel.
The young man was hung by one of the sailors, and the other survived a slant fate only when the police arrived.
He's white as a ghost, other prisoners made fun of him as the guards dragged him to me.
Inside naked and cold, gnawing at his bones. Look at the spawn! Maybe the ghost can get through the walls.
And over the course of 12 years, his body and soul were lying down until I felt his things had become
I'm a ghost.
I'm weightless.
I'm kind... Young as a young man... I walk through this world alone.
One night the ghost awoke to the prisoners' cries. He didn't know what to do with it.
The secret that was shaking the ground on which he was sleeping, and the mighty hand that shook the tile of his stone cell, but as soon as he jumped on his feet a mighty rock landed and landed right on the bouquet where he was sleeping. He looked up at the place where the rock had fallen, and he saw a hole in
The crumbling wall behind it was an illusion he had not seen for more than ten years. The moon, as it rocked the earth, found itself digging a path through a narrow tunnel and creeping even.
He reached wide, short ground, descended to a mountainside, headquartered into the forest.
Running southward all night, delirious of hunger and fatigue, he found himself almost unconscious at dawn, in a land without trees marked by tracks.
A train runs through the woods. He followed the railroad walking in a dream and then saw an empty strip of goods and crawled inside a yard of refuge to rest. When he woke up, the train was moving. How much time is it? And where was he going? He had spraying pain in his guts. Am I dying? He fell back into a deep sleep. This time, he was awakened by the sound of someone Shouting at him, hitting him and kicking him out of the vehicle. He wandered around the outskirts of a small village, battered by water, looking for
Food, but in vain, at last his weak body is no longer able to take one step. Forward, she lies down on the ground on the side of the road and faints light comes away slowly crawling and a ghost howls for how long dead a day?
Three days? That's not important anymore. His bed was soft and cloudy and the air around him smelled sweet with the smell of candles, and Christ was there, looking at him from above, said Jesus. I am happy, the stone has been lifted, and I am reborn.
He slept, he woke up, his ideas were confused, he never believed in heaven, and yet he was
Jesus is watching over him. There was food next to his bed, and the ghost ate the food almost feeling the flesh on his bones again, and fell asleep again When I woke up Jesus was still. He marked on his face, You are saved my son, they are blessed the first of you who follow my path
He fell asleep again.
It was the cry of pain that distressed the ghost from his deep slumber. He jumps out of bed and walks.
Stumbling down a hallway toward where the screaming came from. Then he entered the kitchen and saw a large man beating a small man. Unbeknownst to the word, the ghost grabbed the big man and threw him violently back into the wall. The man fled, leaving behind a ghost standing next to the body of a young man dressed as a priest. The priest's nose was completely broken. The ghost raised the altar priest with his blood, held him and put him on the couch.
Oh, thank you, friend, the priest said in poor French, "charity money is always good."
Tempting the thief. You spoke French in your sleep. You speak Spanish too? The ghost shook his head, denying it.
What's your fish? Keep up with weak French.
The ghost couldn't deny the name his parents gave him.
What could be done with the derogatory pronouns and satirical names that the prison guards rained down on him.
In it.
My mother, Manuel Arrangarosa, I am a missionary from...
Madrid sent me here to build a church for God's work, where I sleep.
"You're in Oviedo in northern Spain.
How did she get here?
He left you here on my doorstep. I was sick and I fed you. He's been through all this.
"Your presence for many days.
The ghost wished in his young benefactor. It's been a long time since anyone showed up.
An empathy, a thank you, Father.
The priest touched his blood-stained lip and said: "I owe you thanks and gratitude, O
My friend."
When the ghost woke up in the morning and felt his world had become clearer, he looked at me
The cross hanging up in the wall above his bed, though he no longer speaks to him, makes him feel better in his presence
He settled in astonished by the fact that there was a newspaper on the table by his bed.
This was an article in the newspaper written in French a week ago. And when they read
THE STORY, FULL OF HIS HEART IN TERROR, WAS ABOUT AN EARTHQUAKE THAT HIT THE MOUNTAINS AND DESTROYED A JAIL
And the liberation of so many dangerous criminals.
His heart began to beat. The priest knows who I am! The feeling in him was gone.
About him for a long time. Shame and guilt. Fearing to catch him, he jumped out of bed.
Where do I run to?
The book of works said the voice behind the door.
Ghost turnips are terrified.
The young priest entered a seam with a smile on his face. His nose was strangely bandaged.
I found one in French, take it to you, and I marked one of the chapters.
The ghost reluctantly took the Gospel and looked at the chapter the priest had taught him.
He tells the story of a prisoner named Selams who rises naked and breached in his cell and chants a hymn
"And suddenly there was an earthquake, calling out the foundations of the prison and opening all the doors....
The ghost threw the priest a stunned look.
"From now on, my friend, if you have no other name
"I'll name you Silas.
The ghost shook his head in a chant. He's got a name. On my identity, my name is Silas.
It's time for breakfast, "the priest said," You'll need your strength if you're going to help me build this.
The chapel.
At 20 feet above the Mediterranean, it was a airliner.
Italian Air Force 1618 Tehter had made a turbulence, causing the passengers to be nervous, but Reverend Argarosa had barely noticed what was going on.
Opus Dei.
He was anxious to see how the line ran in Paris and wished he could get away.
Silas. But he could not, the professor warned him not to. You can do it for your own safety, Professor, speaking English with a Persian accent. I'm familiar enough with electronic communications to know they're traceable. And the consequences could be disastrous for you in the first place.
Arengarosa was right, the master was a man of the descent of the healed Volm.
His identity is T Largaruziza, but it is he who nevertheless proves to be a man worthy of obedience; in the end, he is the one who somehow manages to obtain highly classified information. The names of these four great members of the brotherhood were the most successful blows that convinced the priest that the professor was indeed able to hand him the prize he claimed to be able to uncover, and then the priest, Alstan, said to him, I did all the things to ensure that my plan would work."
So you must allow Silas to show on Whittle to just me for a few days, and some will not arrive at this time." And I'll call him through safe routes.
And you will treat him with respect?
Silas and I are not gonna talk until this is over.
I'm doing it to protect your name, Silas and my coloniale.
Your schmuck?
"This dear cat has got to do with the development of the first ones."
"Prison, then you won't be able to pay my fee.
Reverend Alt smiled right; we are good at the goal we seek. May God be with you.
"With you.
Twenty million euros, the priest thought, and now he's looking at the vast space through a window.
The plane.
The amount was almost the same in U.S. dollars.
Money and faith were always better.
Motivation.
